


But I Didn't Know Where To Start

by flightsofangels



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Bickering, M/M, Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Pre-Relationship, lab era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightsofangels/pseuds/flightsofangels
Summary: Hermann Gottlieb is far from the most skilled when it comes to communication. If the disastrous first meeting with a certain penpal-turned-nuisance-turned-lab-partner wasn’t enough to prove it, he is often baffled by the intricacies of friendship, and he finds it to be much easier to simply lash out than to actually put his feelings into words.This is a problem, however, when the aforementioned lab partner is exactly what is causing his unfortunate feelings.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	But I Didn't Know Where To Start

**Author's Note:**

> "And one day I asked if I could borrow your bass guitar – not that I needed one, but I didn't know where to start."  
> -How We Met, The Long Version (Jens Lekman)

Hermann Gottlieb is far from the most skilled when it comes to communication. If the disastrous first meeting with a certain penpal-turned-nuisance-turned-lab-partner wasn’t enough to prove it, he is often baffled by the intricacies of friendship, and he finds it to be much easier to simply lash out than to actually put his feelings into words. This is a problem, however, when the aforementioned lab partner is exactly what is causing his unfortunate feelings. 

How exactly, he thinks while trying (and failing) to complete an equation on his massive chalkboard in the shared lab, does one end up as unlucky as he? To not only be forced to share a space with a rude, loud, and terribly disorganized man, but to go through the indignity of developing _affections_ for him? But when Hermann hears Newton singing along to the obnoxious rock music he plays through the lab speakers (does the man even know what headphones are?) he is horrified when the primary emotion he experiences is not annoyance, but affection. Newton's behavior has somehow become endearing to him. This is something of an inconvenience.

Hermann sighs a sigh that sounds alarmingly like that of a teenage girl, packed with affection thinly veiled as annoyance, attempting to refocus on the equation at hand. If the last kaiju attack was a month ago, the next could occur at any minute; he has to be prepared. He can do that, certainly. 

But behind him, on Newt’s (embarrassingly disorganized) side of the lab, music is blaring, volume so high that Hermann has to strain to hear the rather impressive voice singing along. Hermann has never had much musical skill beside the occasional piano lesson as a child, preferring mathematics to the arts even at such a young age. But Newt’s voice reaches the highs and lows of the song with ease, and it has such a unique quality to it that it sticks out even when pitted against speakers, volume turned up high. 

Well, it hardly matters how Hermann feels about Newt’s singing, he thinks as he turns his back to the vast chalkboard to see what the _hell_ Newt thinks he’s doing, and oh, of _course_ he’s dancing. He’s got important work to get done, but he’s _dancing_. 

The remains of the last kaiju to be taken down by the Jaeger pilots are scattered about on Newt’s dissection table, and the man is spinning around his table and singing at the top of his lungs as he digs in the creature’s guts. He’ll never understand Newt’s utter lack of disgust at the things he studies, not only at their gorey innards but their likenesses as well; he wears his love for them quite literally on his sleeve, but at some point, this has apparently grown endearing to Hermann as well. He pushes down _that_ horrifying revelation, turning his mind to the work that he still needs to get done. As much as Hermann would like to, it would be entirely unprofessional to allow this behavior to continue. There is important work to be done, work neither of them will be able to complete with Newt’s blasted singing making it impossible for Hermann to think. 

Just when Hermann is about to turn his back – and the metaphorical other cheek, to ignore Newt’s behavior in favor of attacking his work - Newt catches Hermann’s gaze. 

“Like what you see?” Newt says with a grin, before turning his attention to his samples, scalpel in hand. 

Hermann’s face burns. Knowing himself, he’s bright red right now, heat spreading crimson over his cheeks to the tips of his ears. And there it is: that familiar annoyance. _Finally_. Slipping back into that comfortable shield of disgust at Newt’s unprofessional behavior, Hermann scoffs, turning back to his work with what he hopes is dignity. 

“I’d like it much more if you’d turn that _bloody_ music down!” Hermann hadn’t intended to yell, but he hardly had a choice in the matter, given the way Newt's music is currently making his brain feel like it's turning to liquid in his skull.

“Alright, alright,” comes Newt’s voice behind Hermann, followed by the volume lowering. “You could at least say ‘please’, though.” 

Hermann doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead electing to stare daggers into his board and grip his chalk in his hand so hard he feels his knuckles turning white.

***

When Hermann, at last, has a moment to himself to think, he realizes just how damned he is. He pushes closed the heavy door to his quarters, and as soon as he’s alone, the realization hits him yet again. He has, somehow, developed… _something_ for his lab partner. His infuriating, unprofessional, disorganized _mess_ of a lab partner. 

To make matters worse, Hermann can’t seem to recall a single instant either of them have had a conversation that hasn’t devolved into bickering, if not an outright screaming match. Even today, they’d only made it a few hours before Newt decided to turn up his music yet again, and Hermann’s patience had run thin. Before he knew it, they were hollering away, working out their frustrations in their own constant work by throwing insults at each other. Granted, there were the days before they met, when Hermann’s days seemed to center on his correspondence with the famed Dr. Geiszler. After months of professional conversation, their letters naturally took on a more personal tone – though Newt seemed to bring up his personal life from even the first letter, Hermann was more hesitant to share. But from the first time they’d met face to face, each and every one of their interactions have been colored by conflict. 

Hermann supposes they may simply be incompatible. 

Despite the warning bells sounding in his mind, Hermann can’t help but think of the teasing way Newt had looked at him in the lab, the obviously false smile designed to elicit a reaction. More than that, the camaraderie of their late nights in the dim lab, Newt’s habit of taking two servings from the mess hall when remembers the need to eat – an unspoken agreement to keep each other afloat and alive. The small gift that Hermann had found on his desk when his birthday had come last year, despite him only having mentioned the date to Newton years ago, back when they still wrote to each other. They may be waging a losing war, but they’d found allyship in each other, in the disorganized and understaffed lab. 

He perches on the edge of his bed, more leaning than sitting despite the ache in his leg from spending too long on his feet. It’s not as if he’s worried about disturbing the sheets; Hermann supposes if anyone ever entered his quarters they would be surprised by the mess. As it is, no one but him ever sees his room, so a sloppily made bed and overflowing drawers will hardly hurt him. By the time he finally retires most nights, he’s far too exhausted to clean. 

Hermann is facing a dilemma. He runs over the facts of the matter in his mind: He would like to be closer to Newton, neither of them are apparently capable of holding a civil conversation, Newt at least cares enough for him to bring him food and buy him gifts on his birthday. Hell, Newt is likely the closest thing Hermann has to a proper friend – not counting his ex-wife and current sister-in-law Vanessa, whom he’s known for far too long to consider anything less than family. 

As he sees it, the only logical option is to find some excuse to speak with Newt on some neutral topic, one that will – hopefully – not cause their old habit of bickering to arise. He considers this. It would need to be something small; less time to talk means less chance of a fight. If it goes well, he can always try again with something riskier. 

Hadn’t Newton mentioned owning a bass guitar? He’s sure he’s heard him talk about dreams of being in a band, ones that had never come to fruition due to the high demands of his constant work. 

Well, there’s no time like the present. Before he has a chance to overthink what, exactly, he’s planning to say, he’s up and moving, pulling open his door and walking next door to Newt’s quarters. He silently thanks whoever had designed the Shatterdome for putting the K-Science quarters so near the lab, essentially making the lab and its adjoining rooms a large suite. It makes travel much more efficient, and gives him no time to second-guess himself before he raises a fist and knocks thrice on Newt’s door. 

“Yeah?” comes Newt’s voice from within. 

“Newton? It’s me. Er, Hermann.” He kicks himself for not thinking of what to say before opening his mouth. “I, um–” 

The door swings open, and Newt is standing in its place. His hair is damp from a shower, wearing a faded shirt advertising a band Hermann has never heard of and checkered boxers that Hermann very pointedly does _not_ look at. 

“You need something?” 

He doesn’t sound hostile. Really, Newt just seems confused as to what business Hermann could possibly have at this hour. He can hardly blame him, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s not like they _talk_ , not really.

“Do you still have that bass guitar?” Hermann asks, and if Newt was confused before, now he’s truly baffled. 

“Sorry, what?” He’s still standing in the doorway, but Hermann’s glad he hasn’t been invited in. That would be moving much too fast for his taste. He’d much rather be able to make a quick escape.

“You mentioned owning a bass guitar?” he asks again. “A few weeks ago, I think. You were practically talking my ear off about – You were telling me about wanting to join a band when you were at university?”

Newt stares at him for a second. Hermann almost thinks he’s going to ask him who he is and what he’s done with his lab partner, but Newt just nods. “Uh, yeah, I have it. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking of learning,” Hermann lies, knowing full well the thing is going to sit in his room gathering dust until he gets around to returning it. 

Newt’s eyebrows raise. Hermann has a feeling he hadn’t expected that.

“You. Hermann Gottlieb. _You_ want to learn to play bass?” 

“Well, I hardly have another hobby with which to spend my time when I’m not working.” He’s always working, and Newt knows this, but Newt shrugs nonetheless.

“And here I thought I knew you,” Newt says, and Hermann could swear he’s impressed. “Alright, man. Come on in, I’ll grab it for you.” 

_Too fast, too fast._ “Oh, no, I can wait here,” Hermann manages. 

Newt must see the poorly-concealed panic in his eyes, because he simply responds, “Suit yourself,” and turns to get the instrument. A few moments later, and Hermann is holding a bright red bass guitar. It’s larger than he’d thought it would be, heavy in his inexperienced hands. 

“Thank you,” Hermann starts, but Newt grabs his arm before he can leave. 

“Dude, you’re not gonna be able to get much done with just that,” he says, looking at Hermann like he’s an idiot. He is, really. He has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Well, what do I need?” 

In response, Newt simply holds up a finger, and disappears back into the room. From what little Hermann can see of it, it’s even messier than his own, clothes strewn about on the floor and his bed a mess of blankets. And then he’s back, carrying a whole stack of equipment. 

There is no way Hermann will be able to carry all of that. He listens as Newt explains the function of each: amps, cable, tuner, picks. It all goes far over Hermann’s head. He’d taken a scant few piano lessons as a child, but all musical knowledge has long since been replaced with scientific figures and mathematical equations. 

“You know, if you wanted I could teach you myself,” Newt says once he’s gone through the necessary equipment. 

Hermann’s heart skips a beat. That’s far too much commitment, too many chances for something to go wrong. No, better to start slow. 

“Really?” he finds himself saying instead. 

“Yeah,” Newt says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if he’s not volunteering to spend more time with Hermann. Hermann, who constantly berates him (with good reason, of course), whom Newt can’t seem to stand. “I mean, it’s kind of late now, but tomorrow? If we finish up early enough, anyway.”

And Hermann finds himself agreeing, and then he’s letting Newt help him carry the things to his room, and then Hermann’s back on his bed with a bass guitar he doesn’t know how to play in his hands. 

Yes, he’s well and truly damned. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
